


Love and Other Minor Entanglements

by elwenyere



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: First Kiss, Getting Together, Human Disaster Tony Stark, Idiots in Love, M/M, Protective Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 17:40:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29282385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elwenyere/pseuds/elwenyere
Summary: “If anything involuntary happens in that lab, it’s because I’ve been touched by the hand of genius,” Tony replied. “And if you’re asking that question because you talked to Bruce recently, I had the situation with the hyper-speed microwave completely under control. Admittedly, the Hot Pocket explosion was a setback, but my math is solid, and I think with a few minor adjustments, we’re all going to be shaving valuable seconds off our food-prep time.”When Tony crashes after a brutal month of work, Steve tries to help.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 20
Kudos: 91
Collections: POTS (18+) Stony Stocking 2020





	Love and Other Minor Entanglements

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bleakloft](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bleakloft/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [Bleakloft](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bleakloft/pseuds/Bleakloft) in the [stony_stocking_2020](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/stony_stocking_2020) collection. 



> This fic is a gift for Bleakloft, who is very dear to my heart and who makes the process of creation more joyful than I ever could have imagined. It's a fill for the short prompts, "Love is in the little things" and "Steve takes care of overworked Tony." 
> 
> I hope this little story brings a bit of joy to those who read it, and a huge THANK YOU to everyone who shares the world of the fic.

“I just don’t understand how it ended up in your hair,” Steve mused.

The object in question was a small heating coil, which had somehow wound its way into the soft curls around Tony’s temple and – if the faint odor of sulfur was anything to go by – produced a nest of charred hair in the process. Tony hadn’t even seemed to notice his new accessory when he wandered into the kitchen, eyes gazing vacantly into the middle distance. He had opened one of the kitchen cabinets and then slumped against the side of the refrigerator, where he had remained, as if in a fugue state, until Steve took him by the shoulders and gently steered him toward a seat at the dining room table.

Judging by the imprint that a set of pliers had left on his cheek and the impressive grease stain stretching across his forehead, Steve guessed that Tony had reached his final stage of exhaustion: an event that the other four Avengers had started privately referring to as a “Code Wipeout.”

“Must have taken the briefest of naps on top of the parts for your new utility belt,” Tony explained, his eyes fluttering shut as Steve’s fingers carded through his hair in pursuit of the metal coil.

“Was this a voluntary or involuntary nap?” Steve asked, trying (somewhat unsuccessfully, he feared) to keep the edge of worry out of his voice.

The past month had been hard on the whole team: at several points, the calls to assemble had gotten so frequent that even Thor admitted he wouldn’t mind a few days off to catch up on _Xena: Warrior Princess_. But Tony had somehow been juggling a product launch and a major acquisition at Stark Industries while also suiting up to fight Doombots, HYDRA agents, and something Clint had dubbed “the cuttlefish from Hell.” Steve had been trying his best to give Tony his space, but after the battle with the Doombots – when Tony had apparently nodded off mid-flight, clipped the side of a building with his shoulder, and ended up plowing through a billboard – Steve had been feeling extra vigilant.

“If anything involuntary happens in that lab, it’s because I’ve been touched by the hand of genius,” Tony replied, the words slightly muffled by the way he was propping his head up on his fist. “And if you’re asking that question because you talked to Bruce recently, I had the situation with the hyper-speed microwave completely under control. Admittedly, the Hot Pocket explosion was a setback, but my math is solid, and I think with a few minor adjustments, we’re all going to be shaving valuable seconds off our food-prep time.”

“I hadn’t heard about the Hot Pockets,” Steve said, his brow furrowing, “but that makes it the third time this week that the ‘hand of genius’ has struck your lab. Don’t get me wrong: I’m relieved to hear that no frozen turnovers were harmed in today’s incident. But I wouldn’t mind if you switched creative fuels to something a little less volatile. Like eight hours of sleep – just to choose an example totally at random.”

“Gear upgrades wait for no man, Rogers,” Tony demurred, attempting to emphasize his point with a wave of one hand and almost knocking over the glass of water that Steve had put in front of him. “I needed to get the new belt ready in case we got another call. While I admit that having those tight, spangly pants of yours start to slip in the middle of a battle would probably be a pretty effective distraction for a certain class of villain, I think it’s best for your public image to leave a little bit to the imagination, if you know what I mean.”

“I’ve never noticed any issues with the old belt,” Steve persisted, pushing right past the innuendos, which always cropped up with greater frequency the more exhausted Tony became. “How could the need for updates possibly be urgent enough to justify running yourself into the ground this way? It’s reckless.”

Tony gave him a tight smile, leaning back in his chair and forcing Steve to move quickly to avoid yanking his hair.

“If you’re worried about whether I’ll be mission ready, Cap, there’s no need. I aced all my freshmen finals with nothing but a bottle of Lipvitan-D, a bag of Funyuns, and adrenaline – and I hadn’t even set foot in two out of the five classes. That razor-thin line between ‘oh my God, call the MacArthur Foundation’ and a total fucking mess? That’s my sweet spot: that’s where I live. So if Fury has concerns –”

“I’m not worried about the missions, Tony,” Steve interjected, heaving a sigh of exasperation. “I’m worried about _you_.”

Something twisted quickly across Tony’s features and then disappeared, but he made no other move to respond. The quiet stretched out between them, and Steve felt a flush creep up the back of his neck. Shit. Natasha had bet him fifty dollars that he wasn’t going to be able to keep his feelings secret for longer than a week, and here he was blowing it already, just three days after he'd realized he was falling for Tony Stark.

He was just opening his mouth to try to walk back his remark when Tony started speaking again.

“You were shivering on the last mission,” he said, and Steve’s fingers froze in place, still nestled in Tony’s hair. “When we had to take out that HYDRA bunker outside of Mogilev, I noticed you couldn’t stop shaking – even once we got back on the jet, you kept chafing your arms under the blanket. I know the cold probably reminds you of the whole…Capsicle thing, so I just thought if you had something in your uniform that you knew you could turn on. It couldn’t get that hot without a risk of overheating you, but maybe just a sense of control…”

Tony trailed off, looking down at his fingers, which were tapping rapidly against the top of the table. For a wild moment, Steve had to fight the urge to take the nervous hand in his and press it to his lips.

“You know,” he observed instead, “for someone who can walk around for over an hour without noticing there’s a piece of burnt metal stuck in your hair, you have a very sharp eye for what the people around you need.”

“Well, not everyone, obviously,” Tony smiled ruefully. “As you say, my powers of observation are a little selective, and I guess the principle of selection wasn’t that hard to figure out. It’s a small field, and I’m as surprised as you are to find out that you’re at the front of it. God, I’m going to regret admitting that once I’ve gone through a few REM cycles, aren’t I?”

“Admitting…what exactly?” Steve asked.

His pulse had started hammering automatically in response to Tony’s change of tone, but his mind couldn’t quite catch up to whatever conclusion his heart had drawn. Tony’s mouth opened and shut quickly, and then he dragged one hand roughly across his face as if to clear the expression.

“Nothing,” he replied, “or something totally normal and not at all emotionally compromising – choose your own adventure, Cap. Anyway, I’m going to go see a man about some sheep: counting, that is, not shearing – probably shouldn’t operate any more machinery under the circumstances –”

“Tony,” Steve said softly.

Tony broke off again, chewing at the inside of his cheek. For a few seconds, Steve hesitated, knowing it was the last chance to hedge his bets in case he was misreading the cues. Then he reached out to rub his thumb gently across the grease stain on Tony’s forehead.

“I keep a special eye out for you too,” he continued, his heart fluttering as Tony leaned just slightly into his touch. “And while we’re being honest, I may have been exaggerating just a little bit about how long it took me to get this out of your hair.”

He held out the disentangled heating coil with a slight smirk. Tony blinked at it for a few moments, and then a broad smile spread across his face, so brilliant that all signs of fatigue momentarily faded away.

“Well in that case,” he said, grabbing a fistful of Steve’s shirt with one hand, “you want to take me to bed, soldier?” He pulled Steve in for a kiss, and Steve felt his stomach dip, as if he had taken the first leap off a plane.

“And by 'take me to bed,'” Tony continued when they pulled apart. “I mean literally: do you think you could get me upstairs before I pass out? Because believe me, at any other moment I would be stripping that undersized tee-shirt off you with my teeth, but since I’m currently seeing two of those spicy little Under Armour numbers – I assume you have them custom made somewhere and then ask them to subtract an inch off of every measurement – I think maybe I should wait to ravish you until I can feel all my fingers and toes.”

Steve rolled his eyes and scooped Tony into his arms.

“Sleep first,” he agreed, nestling his cheek ever so slightly against the top of Tony’s hair. “And then maybe you can show me that ‘hand of genius’ I’ve heard so much about.”


End file.
